


(Untitled)

by aquarian_sunchild



Category: The Adventures of Pete & Pete
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3584973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquarian_sunchild/pseuds/aquarian_sunchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So many people were getting so excited about the Boy Meets World reboot, but I never cared for that show. I started imagining the characters from one of my all-out favorite shows from childhood and what they'd be up to now. This is what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Untitled)

By the time Mom was willing to accept that what was going on was more than just the plate in her head, it was too late. The tumor in her brain was deemed inoperable, and she was gone within a few months.

Dad took it really hard. He said he had no reason to wake up in the morning without her, let alone mow the lawn or go fishing or anything else he loved doing. He even sold his prized bowling ball at a garage sale. My brother and I nearly killed each other over that ball when we were kids, and some schlub bought it off our front lawn for five bucks.

Dad fell apart, his golf course fell apart, the house started falling apart. Since everything back home was collapsing on itself, I felt no major urge to go back after Mom’s funeral. I focused my energy on my writing and settling down with my wife.

I did occasionally wonder about my little brother. No one was really sure where he had ended up. I heard a lot of “It’s not surprising” and “Weird kids become weird adults” at Mom’s calling hours. The poor kid was never able to bounce back from the disappearance of his childhood hero. Some people said the guy relocated to a new town to be _their_ local hero, others said he was mauled by the local bear population, and hell, some weirdos think he decided to settle down and get a real job.

No matter what had happened to his best friend, my brother fell into this depressed and nostalgic funk that reminded me way too much of myself. After he graduated high school, he just…vanished.

The release of my first collection of short stories was met with a surprising amount of critical praise, with numerous reviewers applauding its “dream-like, surreal glimpse into a small-town childhood.” Compounded with the unexpected success of my debut work was the somewhat more expected birth of my daughter. She was blessed with her mother’s warm brown eyes and brilliant smile, but cursed with my complexion and hair color. We gave her a name that reminded us both of the serendipity of our childhood, an unpredictable but exciting time to be alive.

The book’s success swept myself, my wife and our baby girl into a whirlwind of travel for the sake of interviews, panel discussions, subsequent book deals and talks of a film adaptation. It was nearly two years until the publicity storm had settled down enough for us to catch our breath. Dad called, begging us to visit. Things had gotten better for him after he stumbled upon a series of self-help books that used lawn maintenance as a metaphor for overcoming grief. He said he wanted to see his other grand-daughter. We had been out of touch for so long that he apparently added extra children into our little family.

Going home was…strange. It was like stepping into a parallel universe where small details had been changed just enough for the entire scene to be completely different. The drive-in had been flattened into a vacant lot, the pumpkin-smashers grew up to be repeat felons, and “Orange Julius” had become local drug slang. But at least that payphone had stayed silent.

I heard the old ice cream truck coming down our street before I saw it. I couldn’t believe it was still around, and I grabbed my daughter’s hand with an almost embarrassing amount of excitement, compelled to share this one piece of my past that hadn’t been tarnished by time.

“Well, if it isn’t King Fart-Sniffer himself!”

His voice was muffled by the giant ice cream head, but it couldn’t have been anyone other than my little brother. After years of hopping around the US and bits of Canada in a loosely-planned quest to find himself, he found himself back home. He drove a bus during the school months.

That evening, he introduced us to his girlfriend, Annie. She announced herself as the strongest woman in the world, and anyone who can lift my ham hock of a brother over their head has more than enough right to make that claim. Then he asked if I had heard anything about my niece.

Dad wasn’t as confused as I assumed he was, and there I stood, in the middle of our old living room with the fading carpet, holding on to a restless loaf of red hair and freckles.

I laughed. “Great. Our kids look the same. I just hope we didn’t manage to give them the same name too.”

My little brother laughed in response. “Dude, like you’d name _your_ kid after _my_ tattoo.”

I gulped and stared at him in disbelief. He gave me the same look back. “Oh, come on! There’s no way!”

Ellen and Annie both groaned. Dad laughed so hard he nearly broke his La-Z-Boy.

Petunia and Petunia.

It’s so weird that it somehow makes sense.


End file.
